


Watermelon

by Gheloured



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Jon is Nepalese though its not specifically mentioned, Jon is a teacher in this one laddies, M/M, Martin has white hair and mood ring eyes haha, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Teacher Jonathan Sims, The Lonely - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24516130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gheloured/pseuds/Gheloured
Summary: It was a small thing to be bothered by, the hair.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 47
Kudos: 413





	Watermelon

**Author's Note:**

> My beta was the wonderful luminaryparadox! Thank you so much 💓

It was a small thing to be bothered by, really. After all they had gone through, attacked by eldritch fear gods and lesser monsters, this was the thing Martin was worried about. And it didn’t really matter in the scheme of things, and it didn’t define him, and it wasn’t like it could bring him back into the Lonely, but looking in the mirror every day… it hurt. He’d forgot about it for a while, settling in an armchair to work on his knitting, then his hair fell down in front of his eyes.

The color of his hair and eyes that had changed after the lonely, white and misty like Peter’s fog, a mark of something Martin hadn’t meant to become. It was a few days before Martin was able to drag himself out of bed long enough to look at himself in the mirror and see it. Something in him had burned at the thought of still holding something from that man, another part tinged his eyes a murky gray-blue from where they had been cold and lifeless. He went to lay back down, Jon coaxing him to eat at least  _ something _ .

And Jon- sweet, selfless Jon, who was nothing but fragile glass smiles and gentle hands over his own, had been forced to take care of him during that first long week of aching nothingness. Martin remembered scarcely anything from that time except that he wanted to cry, but couldn’t find the energy to do much other than breathe and take up space in the bed. Jon said he didn’t mind, that Martin should take his time to recover, but Jon wouldn’t say if something had bothered him even if Martin asked.

Here he was, a month into their retreat with eyes a melancholy purple, trying to make up for what he put Jon through, and still bothered by such a little thing as the color of his hair. God, or fear gods, or whatever he ought to worship, this was just pathetic. But his hands were suddenly so cold, they wouldn’t stop shaking, the loop almost falling off of the needle. Suddenly the feeling of fog swirling around him became tangible enough to taste, a cold that sunk into the marrow of his bones. Martin took a shuddering breath to chase away the mist with the warmth of the late September air, pushed the yarn back up on the needle, and hoped Jon wouldn’t inadvertently Know his slip up.

Unfortunately, luck was never on his side, and Jon came home not a minute after he had thought of him. Speak of the de- person. Distancing Jon from the notion that he was a monster was one thing he wanted to do.

“Martin?” Jon was home, and set to taking off the gloves he always wore outside of the house.

“Hello Jon, How was work?” It was no effort to put a smile on his face, it came naturally after so many years of doing it to get people not to worry, and Jon was stressed enough without Martin falling back into melancholy.

“It was fine, the students are… interesting enough. Thankfully the e- It latched on to some works of classical literature I read aloud instead of one of them, but that’s not what I want to talk about right now.” Jon took off the jacket he had been wearing, revealing the sweater vest he had worn to teach in. He walked over with that tentative smile on his face and a shadow in his eyes, sitting in the chair Martin had needed to pull closer to his own because Jon was too weak to move it. 

“Mm? “ Martin hummed in lieu of empty words, trying to concentrate on the conversation instead of the creeping fog at the edges of his vision.

“I wanted to say I missed you,” Jon answered to his unspoken question. “It gets a little boring at work without someone I know to talk to.”

Martin’s smile froze a little on his face, before he put down the knitting and reached to place a hand over Jon’s, who flinched with instinctive fear before relaxing into the touch. “Thank you. I missed you too.”

Jon looked away from the hand over his to Martin’s face, and studied it. Not the piercing supernatural type of Knowing, but the regular human kind. Slowly, the smile faded from his face and the brief spark of happiness at Jon’s arrival from Martin’s heart. Jon’s calloused fingers curled around his own, the warmth barely penetrating the chill he felt. “What’s wrong, Martin?”

Martin looked down at his lap and watched as the hand not holding Jon’s curled into a loose fist. “I’m fine, Jon, nothing to worry about.”

“Martin. Martin look at me.” Slowly, slowly, Martin looked at Jon’s face. The curve of his jaw and the pockmarks running along it, the deep brown of his skin holding the deeper brown of his eyes, the sockets covered in knicks and. The tenderness in the set of his lips and tattered eyelids, the eyebrows quirked in concern. “I know I’m not the best at these sorts of things, but if you ever want to talk about something I want to listen.”

Martin's eyes flickered to the left, his fists loosening in his lap and a small shroud of guilt draping itself over his shoulders. He took a slow breath, in and out. “I didn’t want to bother you with it, I mean, it’s such a trivial thing. Nothing that you should have to deal with.”

“Martin,” and that name came to his ears in the soft way Jon always said it, “I want to help.”

“Well, it's like.” Martin exhaled, folding his arms into each other. “Sometimes it’s like I’m still there. In the fog. Lost, and broken, and unlovable, and it feels better that way. To be numb. Disconnected.” He laughed, a small bitter thing for something that wasn’t funny. “Lonely.”

“I don’t like to think about it, but there’s a voice in my head that tells me it isn’t worth it anymore. That nothing is worth it. I mean, what have I done to deserve to be happy? Nothing. And yes,” Martin’s voice broke. “Yes I know this is all so stupid and hypocritical, nobody can just  _ earn _ love. But every time I think I’m ready to stop trying to do that, I mess up. And I don’t want to mess up with you, Jon. Because this is the best thing I’ve ever had, and I don’t want it to end.”

Jon laughed, startling Martin, who felt his heart sink down into the pit of the earth. A smile danced at the corner of Jon’s lips, before it went away to let him speak. “I’m sorry Martin, i'ts just,” Jon placed his other hand over Martin’s, the thick skin of the scar smooth on his own, “I don’t think I could stop loving you if I tried.”

“Oh.” And finally there was warmth. It burned down his cheeks in trails of liquid fire and Martin was too shocked to notice that Jon had initiated person-to-person contact once again, panicking and trying to wipe away Martin’s tears.

“Ah, oh, I’m sorry was that too much? Or did I say something wrong? I’m sorry I laughed, I was just, well.” Jon dissolved into a sputtering mess, words no longer coming in pieces big enough to understand.  _ Cute. _

Martin smiled, gently taking Jon’s hands from his face and holding them in both of his own again. Jon stopped altogether, apologetic and slightly panicked still. “Jonathan Sims. You are an idiot. An adorable one. Thank you.”

“Ah well, thats uh,” Jon muttered. “I just, well. You aren’t alone in this, Martin Blackwood, and Peter Lukass would do well to remember that if his patron ever tries to get you again.”

“Did- did you just-” Martin giggled incredulously, salty tears falling into his mouth, “Oh my god. Peter Lukass. I’m going to use that from now on.”

Jon squeezed his hands, smiling. “But seriously, if you ever begin to feel like you’re falling back in, I can always take some time off work to be with you. I’ll make you some thukpa and momo and we can catch up on Georgie’s podcast together.”

“That sounds nice,” Martin said, and he meant it. It turned out when Jon was properly motivated to make and eat an actual meal he was a very good cook. “Actually, there was one thing that was really bothering me about the whole… thing. I don’t want to see the mark of the Lonely, and obviously I can’t put color back into my eyes, but I can dye my hair.”

“That sounds like a plan. Just back to your original hair color of something new?”

“I was thinking… I’ve always wanted pink hair.” Martin flushed a little, embarrassed. “I never had the guts to do it though.”

“Should I also dye my hair? At this point I have more gray hair than anything.” Jon leaned over the armrest. “If you dye yours pink, then I should dye mine green. We’ll be a watermelon.” 

“Jon, I don’t think you can dye your hair green. You have a job, and students to set an example for.” Martin held it together for about 5 seconds before they both burst out with laughter, the dried tears pulling against Martin’s freckles. They sat there, helplessly giggling at the thought of strict Mr.Sims with bright green hair, setting an example of how to be sleep deprived for all the impressional young folk at the school, and for a moment, they didn’t have a care in the world. When the laughter died down, Martin looked at Jon’s beautiful eyes and smiled. “Thank you, Jon. It means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome.  _ You _ mean a lot to me.”

“Oh? What’s this? When did you get so smooth?” Martin teased, “Did your students teach you that?”

“Ah- uh. Well, I didn’t mean to say that, exactly,” Jon mumbled, “but the principle still holds true.” His voice became stronger in volume and even more tender in tone. “And I suppose you’re right, I shouldn’t dye my hair. I have to keep up my mysterious history teacher persona and the green will raise too many questions.”

“But your head of white hair won’t?” 

“Oh you- shut it.” But Jon had a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “When do you want to get the dye?”

“As soon as possible.” he glanced out the window. “Though maybe not when it’s dark. Tomorrow, maybe?”

“Alright. I’ve been needing to get some spices anyway.”

Martin looked at their clasped hands, the same as Jon was doing. “Jon? I should get back to my knitting.”

“Oh! Of course.” he let go of his hands, placing his own in his lap to watch Martin as the clicking of the needles returned. “What are you making?”

“A jumper. The weather’s supposed to get colder. Maybe I could teach you sometime?” Martin offered, a half smile on his face. Jon’s eyes lit up, always eager to learn something.

“I think I’d like that, Martin, but I’m afraid I’m a nightmare of a student.” 

“Of course, Jon. I’m sure you’ll get it in no time.”

With that, and the promise of something better for the future, Martin and Jon settled into the sweet wings of night. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I also did some art but the internet is being homophobic and won't let me make a clicky link.
> 
> https://gheloured.tumblr.com/post/619865685284306944/watermelon-jonmartin
> 
> In other news, the next fic is a statement of Jonathan Sims, newly appointed history teacher, regarding... schoolchildren.


End file.
